


It Ain't So Sweet (2)

by Lifotni



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gore, M/M, Multi, Pre-War Cybertron, There Is Just So Much Y'all, Violence, the rating will go up later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 04:39:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18275963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lifotni/pseuds/Lifotni
Summary: This is a "re-do" of another previous work with the same title._____________"You are being deceived."Perhaps it sounds a little too ominous. Perhaps we should tone it down."Decepticons."Perhaps that sounds too threatening. We sound like the bad guys.Ariel smiled. "Sweetspark, we are."





	It Ain't So Sweet (2)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Plenoptic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plenoptic/gifts).



> Thank you to everyone who gave the first attempt at this story a read. I truly do appreciate it, but I also sincerely hope that you enjoy this installment much more as I have while writing it with significantly more confidence with the plot. 
> 
> This story is truly beloved to me, and at this time I'd like to thank the one who has provided limitless validation and inspiration both in me to finally begin writing it. 
> 
> Plenoptic, you already know how I feel about you. Thank you for everything you do. 
> 
> Now let's get this show on the road y'all.

**Cybertron: Battle for Tyger Pax**

* * *

 

The term “energon” could pertain to several, wildly differentiating meanings. One has to rely on the context of its usage to determine which is being referred to, but fortunately, this is usually obvious.

A word that translated into “blood” according to many alien languages did not explicitly exist within any Cybertronian vernaculars, and this could be blamed on the plain fact that the inhabitants of Cybertron “bled” the very same substance they drank as sustenance.

The question was often begged of this as to whether a Cybertronian’s internal fluid could then be consumed as said sustenance by one of their own kind, or even themselves, and to many alien species’ aghast horror, yes, yes it could. A Cybertronian _could_ drink the _life-fluid_ -the closest term used that can be compared to “blood”- of one of their same species, but it would be rife with properties that standard filtration process would usually exhume. This is why energon that may leak from a Cybertronian’s wound will be just the slightest different color than the filtered energon that they might have drunk after waking for their morning fuel. It is filled with _metallic_ properties such as copper and such as magnesium; a Cybertronian’s frame type usually determined at what level these properties would level at. This makes it _taste_ explicitly different than processed -filtered- energon that is drunk from a standard cube.

Energon of the body, as one can hopefully assume, is an extremely unique taste.  The average glossa has a natural deterrent to know it, and the usual processor would fuddle with immediately purging once it registered the _flavor_ . But the manner in which one came to have _life-fluid_ in their mouth in the first place could also have a great deal to do with this.

And such a reaction was exemplified in the present scene, as Elita fought the reflex to forfeit the contents of her tank as her own glossa was coated with the distinct taste of the aforementioned metallic.

The smoke discharging from the barrel of her overheated pistol obscured her view of where the weapon’s projectile had made its mark, but the _crunch_ of an armored frame falling to the shrapnel coated ground assured her that she had not retired the magazine's last bullet in vain.

Her intakes were panting breaths in and then out from overworked vents, and the expulsion of hot air created a whistled tempo as it collided with the now motionless weight laying across her chest. The dead mech had just ceased his spasming, and with a forceful shove, Elita pushed him aside. The body landed with a rattling _thud_ , and she took all of a second to jolt herself upright... and then turn herself downward to face the metal panel she had just been laying on.

There was a remarkably untainted patch where her back had been slammed to, but in the next moment, it was being splattered and subsequently stained with glowing bioluminescent energon mixed with the marblings of bubble-rich saliva. Pieces of torn fuel lines joined the mess, and she had to roll her glossa throughout her mouth to purge the shards of woven mesh. They joined the small pile of gore that was now distended from the radiating puddle of fluid directly underneath her mouth. She could feel pieces that had fixed themselves against her front denta and had become caught, but she made no further motion to remove them even as the edges created micro-gashes along the insides of her oral lining.

Elita looked over her shoulder and her optics widened once again at the sight before her.  She attempted to jump to her peds, but as the rush of pain dampening, endogenous chemicals that had so rapidly intoxicated her processor began to ebb away, she became aware of her leg and the pain deriving from it that was now shooting up her frame with every rapid pulse from her pump. But even as her pain tolerance urged her not to rely on it to hold her weight, she met both of her heels to the internal infested sheet of metal and forced her peds to usher her forward.

“Be-e...”

The single syllable name was uttered brokenly from her vocalizer, but it seemed to echo in the sudden silence of her surroundings as the isolated shots of artillery and rifle fire ceased for a single nanosecond.

“Bee…” she said again, more successfully this time, as she fell upon her knees next to the smaller frame that had been lying only several strides away. She bared her denta and her throat tightened as she reached a servo out to the energon-marred faceplate of the mech she now knelt beside.

His optics were half-shuttered and strained in what her spark lamented to know as agony, but they opened further by just a fraction when he saw her -just enough to see more of their brilliant blue. She uttered his name once again and shook her helm discouragingly when he maneuvered himself at just the slightest angle to see who was addressing him better. The fingers of his servo laying beside her knee twitched, and in the next moment, she was holding it.

“I…” Her optics stung behind her visor as she beheld the sight before her. She coughed, clearing her voice of the dust hinderances. “I’m here, Bee. You’re safe, Sweetspark.”

A staticky, high-pitched whimper came from past his split lip components as she met the tips of her fingers to his cheek and hushed him. But the comfort was short-lived, for she soon lifted them away when they only smeared the drips of coagulating energon on the soft metal of his youth-filled face.  

His frame was mangled, battered and leaking from a multitude of wounds that ranged in their severity. Numerous scratches and gashes were scattered about his plating, and there were few areas of his armor than still gleamed his vibrant yellow paint. Her jaw clenched as her gaze became transfixed upon his inverted elbow joint, from where energon was just now beginning to slow its steady flow onto the pile of bent support beams that the broken mech lay upon. When she tore her optics away, her view arrived at his neck, to his throat, and honed in on to where protective cables had been harshly curtained aside to expose vital inner fuel lines. The rate of his sparkbeat was apparent with the pulsing glow of energon in his left jugular line, which was only visible due to the vacancy of a very particular component of anatomy along his larynx. In its stead was a gap that was ceilinged and floored by severed and sparking wires.

A sound that was not unlike a disjointed sob escaped past Elita’s energon soaked denta, and she was quick to whip her optic’s view about the immediate terrain with the desperate hope of spying a still functioning vocalizer…  But then her audials whirled to the sound of distant and unfamiliar shouting voices. Her visor brightened as the groaning and crashing of moving debris suddenly echoed throughout the decimated cityscape.

“C-come on, Bee,” Elita urged hushedly as she maneuvered one of her arms underneath the back of the smaller mech’s shoulders and pulled him up against her chest. His helm lulled against her collar armor as she gingerly hoisted him up into her grasp. It was with overwhelming concern that she realized he was falling unconscious and she urged and insisted to him to stay awake for her, to stay with her as she placed his broken arm over his torso so it would not be jostled more than what was necessary.

“I’ve got you… Stay awake, Bee. Stay with me, Sweetspark, it's gonna be okay. I’ve got you…” She doubted her string of forced words fell on alert audios as she looked around and negotiated with herself about what path to take towards safety.

That same dreadful, pitiful sound came from past B-127’s parted lip components.

Elita got her other arm under his knee joints, and with notable tenderness, she lifted him up with her as she got back to her peds. But before she could take the first step away from the sounds of the Decepticon’s casualty retrieval, her optics focused on what was unmistakably the shape of a huge treaded ped’s print. Within it, nearly smashed beyond recognition except to the one that had just been searching for it, was a vocalizer.

With an exhale of utter remorse, Elita pulled B-127 even closer, cradling him against her. She sent a curt message of their location was sent via her communication link, and after cursing at herself to ignore the pain, she began them down the route she knew the receiver and their company would be coming from. B-127’s optics were barely online, but she was thankful to see him looking around.

“Stay with me, Bee.”   

The disgruntled voices were growing louder, shouting out numbers and sounding closer to their location with every quickened step Elita took through the labyrinth of piled debris and the skeletal remains of skyscrapers. Faulty reasoning told her to hide B-127 and herself amongst the dilapidated buildings, but she knew it would be the result of a miracle that would allow them to go unnoticed. She was constantly repelling her own alarm protocols, resenting them for not knowing that her servos were more than occupied.

She whispered soft encouragements and reassuring phrases to the critical mech she held fixedly against her and tried her damnedest not to jostle him while still keeping her stride up to a jog. Her ankle was leaking profusely now.

 _He_ had done this...

Her fevered denial was dwindling, and seething lamentation was quick to take its place. She used the servo of the arm supporting B-127’s upper frame to hold his broken elbow joint in place as she prepared to pick her pace up to border on a sprint. Her leg was screaming, but the voices were growing louder.

A shot was fired and a loud _ping_ came from somewhere to her left.

...It had been _him_ that she had seen as just a silver streak in the sky as he vacated the emptying combat zone; it had been _him_ who had ordered for B-127 to be taken this far from the initial battle; it was _him_ who had torn the vocalizer from the throat of the mech she was praying fervently to Primus to not take from her. He had destroyed it.

_He knew._

It was all happening too quickly for her usually sharp processor to negotiate. She saw them before she heard them, and familiar streaks of brightly colored armor ran past her in the opposite direction as they vaulted over piles of building debris with brandished firearms of varying power.

The Decepticons had gotten closer than her denial had let her suspect; her ambition to get B-127 to safety had withstood her temptation to look over her shoulder and see how close they were approaching.

_Keep running._

Her audials were soon filled with a barrage of rifle fire from the left, then the right, but she kept running, _running_ _away_ from the sound for the first time in memory.

A _thud_ came from somewhere to her left, and it was soon followed by the concussive blast of a heavy caliber rifle. It was followed by a baritone voice shouting the order to observe the enemy’s retreat, and then-

“Elita!”

She had to catch her heels into the shrapnel dusted ground to slow down, but the hand on her shoulder brought her to full stop. A nearly overwhelming sensation that was very akin to _burning_ had enveloped her leg, but despite the agony of it, her immediate impulse was to turn to the mech behind her and urge:

“Take him,” Elita insisted tersely before she even looked him in the optics. She managed to turn herself around and face Optimus Prime as the taller, sturdy framed mech came to stand in front of her with a rifle in one hand as the other held suspended over her shoulder.

His optics were open wide enough to encompass the space they were tolerated to occupy by his battle mask and the intensity of their azure glow illuminated the metallic paneling. Yet, they still flinched between looking to the now unconscious frame of the leaking mech in Elita’s arms to glancing at the femme herself as she set her weight on her right leg.

“Take him,” she repeated, taking a step and ushering B-127 forward. “Get… Ge’ ‘im to Ra-chet.”  Her glossa had been cut during the run and fresh energon began to gather in her mouth; it promptly made an effort to slur her speech.

Optimus couldn’t holster his rifle quickly enough in his haste to rush his servos forward to take a firm grasp of B-127’s tarnished and energon splattered yellow armor. It seemed Elita was about to give him no choice in the matter, for she deposited the young mech into his arms as soon as he had a hold. The Prime pulled his subordinate close to his own chest, cradling and securing the much smaller mech’s frame against him.

The sight itself past her tinted visor brought an immediate, undeniable ease to the wounded femme, and the sudden lack of tension would have brought her to her knees if not for two blue servos that took hold of her from behind. She fell back against a warm, solid frame, whose owner was quick to pull her against them.

“Chromia,” Optimus monotoned after he tore his optics from under B-127’s chin. He looked over Elita’s helm, and the communication between the two officers was wordless as Optimus turned on his heels and began to stride away in the direction of the no-so-distant lights of the Autobot’s temporary base and triage facility. His ped falls were distinct in her audials as she heard him break into a run. A streak of red followed after him as Sideswipe jumped over a pile of debris; a surge of golden yellow followed shortly after.

“Primus…” Elita heard her commander utter as Chromia took in her subordinate’s condition. “Primus, ‘Lita, I can’t even tell what's yours... Come ‘ere, Kid.”

“None… It’s not mine,” Elita muttered as Chromia put her arm over her shoulder.

“Then who the frag is it’s?” They began to trudge forward, Chromia taking on most of the taller femme’s weight. She looked Elita over once again, focusing on the view of her mouth. “Looks like ya done bit some poor fragger’s throat out.”

Chromia awaited expectantly for a reply from her usually witty lieutenant, but Elita remained silent after her sarcasm drenched inquiry. Blue optics narrowed when she spotted a drip of congealing energon on Elita’s chin… and then they widened as the realization set it.

“He’s safe,” the blue femme said, her tone taking on an uncharacteristic delicacy as she patted Elita’s shoulder. “Good job, kid.”

 

* * *

**Many Vorns Earlier: Cybertron: Somewhere Between Nyon and Iacon**

* * *

 

“It might just hold up…”

Ariel turned her attention from the seemingly endless expanse stretching past the decomposing road back to her brother when he spoke, and she saw him tapping the tip of his finger against the crude welding holding together their trailer’s hitch.

“You didn’t hear it rattlin’ or anything, did ya?” he asked as he bent down on his knees to inspect it closer.

“No,” she replied as she looked back to the wilderness surrounding them; her tone was just loud enough to get his audials to twitch.

The trailer that Arias had somewhat haphazardly hooked onto the motorcycle had remarkably sustained minimal damage during their drive.

They both had expected for the weld to break already, and if it did, it was Ariel’s job to let Arias know so they could stop, turn around, and retrieve it. But it had miraculously held on while they traversed the rough terrain along what was _once_ a roadway connecting Nyon and Iacon, and it looked like it might just hold on for the next leg of their trip as well.

The road itself was now nearly unrecognizable as the highway it had once been, and what were once operational streetlights were now decaying and bent rods of somewhat uniform metal jutting from crumbling median dividers; it was plain to see they had certainly not functioned during Arias’s lifetime, and for that matter, probably not their parent’s either.

The risk of anyone coming across them was so minute that Arias contemplated doing away with the utmost caution he had practiced the last few orns by taking them off the highway, but during their ride, Ariel had nudged his side and told him of the “blue flashing” she had seen not too far beyond the road. He had used assuring words that it was nothing to worry over, which seemed to sate her curiosity, but he also had a few guesses as to what they could have been, and with each guess, he became wearier of the cycle’s motor attracting unwanted attention.

A slab of sheet metal propped up securely onto a length of road median served as their shelter from the wind. It had a nasty tendency to pick up at varying intervals and carry minuscule, yet highly irritating pieces of sand-like bits of rust. It made visors a constant requirement while driving, but for a space to recharge, the slab worked well to protect them from the elements with another panel working as a wall on one side and the bike on the other to serve as windbreakers.

Once their shelter was finished, Arias opened the trailer and pulled out a small box by its handle. The paint was worn, but a red cross was on both sides. Ariel watched him from where she was leaning against the median divider as she kept her left leg suspended higher than the other. He came over to her with the box and knelt down in front of her.

He patted his thigh. “Put it up here.”

She kept one servo on the median when he took a hold of her ped and set it on his knee. Dried energon was caked in the greatest amount along her ankle strutting, but it had begun to leak down along the paneled seams while her ped was pointed downward during the drive.

Arias inspected it closely and held out one servo for her to take to keep her balance steady. He could plainly see from her missing plating that the shock absorber and the strut itself would more than likely need to be replaced, and if by some intervention of Primus it didn’t, the repair was still beyond his extensively limited expertise. The temporary splint he had set had fallen off sometime during the ride, and as he would expect from her, she didn't tell him when it happened so it could be retrieved.  So he took two small rods of metal that had served as part of the median’s structural support and fashioned them as yet another replacement. They were secured with a bit of thin cordage he had grabbed from their creator’s supply and then asked her to test the mobility after he set them securely along her ankle and up to the middle of her foreleg.

Ariel set her ped down and he watched as she tried to move it again, but she only winced and set it down and stood upright on her other leg again.   

“How’s the pain?”

The little femme shrugged. “It’s more bad when we recharge.”

Arias nodded and dug back into the box again. That was probably the most words he had heard her say the last two orns combined. “Take another suppressant. It should kick in faster this time and help ya fall into recharge.”

He took a lidded cube of low-grade energon from his subspace and handed it to her as he unpacked the suppressant.  It was a little dose, but for one as small as Ariel, it still needed to be cut in half.

“Alright, put it under your glossa.”

She did.

“Now take a swig.”

She pulled a face at him. “Was ‘at mean?”

“ _Drink_.” He tapped the cube. “A swallow; a swig.”

She cocked her brow at him, but took a gulp of the low-grade and swallowed the suppressant with it. “Don’t ‘cha just say ‘drink’?”

“Because I like to confuse little femmes.”

She lidded it back up. “Hm.”

“Hm.” Arias nudged her arm playfully, gently, so not to get her off balance, but Ariel made that effort in vain when she nudged him back. He didn’t even budge, and he nearly had to catch her when she began to lean the opposite way.

The smallest hint of a smile broke out over her mouth components when she realigned herself.

“Ah, there it is, Sweetspark. Think I might’a got a smile there.”

She looked back to him, optics that were too big for her faceplate -thankfully still- gleaming with innocence. She flinched back when he poked the tip of her nose with the tip of his index digit.

“Drink up.” He tapped the low-grade cube again before standing back up to his peds and dwarfing her once again. “It’ll help ya grow into them optics.”

There were bets lain on how tall Ariel would get, but for the now, as the top of her helm only _just barely_ reached his hip, it was far too soon to see what wager was looking the most promising. Regardless, she was tall for a youngling; she was the tallest in her class.

Arias hadn’t written down an exact number. Rather, he opted to just put down, _Taller than me._

He wondered where that datapad was now. He could recall their sire’s handwriting, but couldn’t manage to remember what she had put. It had a seven in it-

“Will it heal?” The little voice said behind him as he was heading back towards the trailer to retrieve their collection of thermoblankets.

He threw them over his shoulder and pointed to the distant range of light pollution far ahead of them down the road. “I’ll get ya to a medic when we get to Iacon. They’ll be able to fix it up... We ought to be there this time tomorrow and I’ll get ya to someone who’ll make it good as new.”

Ariel limped over to the shelter as her brother stuffed the blankets into it. “That’ll be expensive.”

She heard him sigh, then his visored optics turned to look at her as Arias settled onto his knees again. “What the frag did ya hear me say earlier?”

“I _know_ , but its really messed _up_ !” She gestured to her ankle and winced when she tried to move it. “I won’t be able to  _run_ or-”

Arias’s servos were on either side of her shoulders before she could look up. He leved his optics with her. “ _Wha'd_  I say, Ariel?”

She looked away quickly and focused her view on one of the thermoblankets in the shelter -her own bright purple one. “I know.”

“‘ _Riel_.”

“That we’d figure it out.”

He nodded and rubbed her thumb over her cheek to sweep away the drip of collant before it streamed further down from her optic. “That we’d figure it out. Damn right…” His voice softened. “I know it hurts, but we’ll find somebody to fix it up, Sweetspark. We’ll have ya runnin’ again in no time. Maybe you’ll finally beat me.”

He tapped his forehelm to hers when she stifled what might have sounded like a laugh if he didn’t know the thoughts that must have been racing through her processor. She was too damn young for this… _Any_ of this.

“We’ll figure it out.” 

* * *

 When they finally settled down in the shelter to recharge, Arias had his sister pulled securly against his frame with one arm draped over her petite shoulders.  He had set a thermoblanket between them and the road, and of course it wasn’t optimal, but it was _something_ to separate their plating from the steadily delapitating ground. Her helm was nestled into the crook of his elbow jointing and it only took them a bit of adjusting before Arias pulled the thermoblankets over them. It was snug -he was fairly cramped with his blastedly big shoulders and had to curl his legs up under her- but the little space became suprisingly warm despite the wind blowing “outside”.

“You comfortable?”

Ariel nodded against him and tucked her servos against her chest.

“You got your music playing?”

She nodded again.

“What are you listening to?”

Her little, somewhat raspy voice was muffled against his plating. “ _This Time Tomorrow_.”

He smiled, then close his optics behind his visor. “Where will we be...”

“On a spaceship somewhere…”

Arias listened to her breath cycling through her vents as it began to steady, and within a few kilks and after scooting even closer to him, she was out in record time. He knew he was not to be so lucky however, and resolved to continue listening to her soft ventalizations and the wind outside.

Yes, every brush of dust outside resembled what his processor was quick to rationalize as distant engines running; the patting of a scrap of rubbish on the road quickly became the sources of the “blue flashing” Ariel had spotted earlier.

No one knew where they were, where they were heading, and he had to constantly assure himself of those facts. No one knew that they had left so promptly and if by some erratically implausible chance something did happen to be coming down the very loosely termed “road”, he highly doubted they would have much interest in _them;_  two Nyonians -also a loosely used term- with one being just about to clear adolescents and the other just a youngling with a broken ankle strut. The thing of highest value was the motorcycle, but its activation protocols that his creator had set would require rigorous hacking to authorize any other but his and Ariel’s alone; he highly doubted anyone would have vested interest in the contents of a beat-up trailer, but if they did happen to break in, the only things to be found would be a medical kit, thermoblankets,  cubes of low and mid-grade, cordage, a tool kit… Everything else was in his subspace; a small box of data sticks containing nothing but rigorously procured music tracks; a small bundle of datapads, two holocubes, and of course I.D. cards for the both of them.

It was yet another worry if there would be questions concerning the photo on Ariel’s I.D. to the actual femme standing before whoever was analyzing it. She had grown immensely through the last two vorns, and was finally putting good use to those legs that Primus had been so inclined to give her.

And Primus help him if he didn’t get her running with them again soon.

Iacon had to have _good_ doctors. Pit, the Acadamy of Science or whatever it happened to be called was _right there_ , so some spark just _had_ to be able to negotiate with him about a price for the replacement parts. Of course, then they would be asked how it had happened, and he would need to strategize with Ariel about how they were going to handle such a question. The current contender was that she had fallen off the motorcycle rather than leading suspicions the real series of events that had led to the injury.

Two young Nyonians wandering the streets of Iacon wouldn’t look too strange, right? There was no hope of them finding some sort of official to help on their course to a medic, for Arias knew they would be bound to try to run his designation and then this venture would indefinitely be all over. He could not even fathom what would then happen to Ariel, and furthermore, how he would go about getting her out of whatever facility they would feel was their obligation to put her in.

Yes, this was a tran-wreck. He wanted beyond the conceptualization of the word “desperation” to comm. either one of their parents and ask for what step to take next, but every time he felt impulsed to find their frequency, he was reminded once again the calling would be nothing but futile. It would result in more than likely in a failure of connectivity like it did the other 38 times.

His optics had adjusted to the darkness under the thermoblankets and Ariel’s energon cube at the end of their very makeshift berth served as a subtle light. The little femme was fast asleep against him, and he so very gently rubbed his thumb along her shoulder.

East Iacon was their best bet. There were shelters for them to stay at while he looked for a job, and then when there were enough credits saved, the next step would be to secure an apartment.

Or at least that's what he had _told_ her was the plan.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, once again, for reading.  
> I know nothing makes sense, but that's why we keep reading.


End file.
